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Sometimes baby girl is just a 42 year old man who loves the peace sign

Attention. A fellow Tumblr user and writer has gotten their account terminated. They are trying to get it back, but in the meantime...this is Dqrkhold's official account. In case anyone was curious about why they couldn't find posts from this user.

#Dqrkhold #tumblr account #terminated account

I want that cookie so bad

𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐓𝐨 𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐲

𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐌!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : You’ve known Peter’s secret for months now—patching him up, keeping him grounded, loving him through thick and thin. But sometimes… he doesn’t want stitches or rest. | Word Count : 1.2k

𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 + 𝐅𝐃𝐍𝐈 mature content below.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : Smut, Dom!Peter, Fluff, Sub!M!Reader, Moaning, Praising, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Riding, M!Reader (giving), Swearing, Explicit Content, Cum, Creampie, Dirty Talk, Blood mention

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭

You'd been dating Peter for months now, long enough to know his secrets—including the whole Spider-Man gig, which you'd pieced together one brutal night when he'd stumbled in half-dead and you'd stitched him back together. You'd just stepped out of the bathroom, steam still curling around your bare shoulders, a white towel slung low around your hips. A thud from the window pulled your attention. Peter swung in awkwardly, landing with a pained grunt, as Peter Parker hauled himself inside. He moved like every step was a battle, his Spider-Man suit clinging to his battered frame, smeared with grime and what looked like fresh bloodstains.“Evening, handsome,” you called out, as you moved toward the living room. Peter's place was a perpetual disaster zone of web fluid vials, crumpled notes on quantum physics, and laundry piles that could bury a man. The place was spotless—your doing, of course; Peter's chaos of gadgets and half-eaten pizzas didn't stand a chance against your cleaning spree.

You glanced over your shoulder and saw him leaning against the wall, mask still on, barely shifting his weight. He tried to play it cool, forcing a weak wave, but his body betrayed him—shoulders hunched, one hand pressed to his ribs. "Hey... yeah, just... getting home. Long night." You paused, towel shifting slightly as you eyed him. He wasn't moving, rooted in place like the pain had glued his feet to the floor. A soft laugh escaped you as you crossed your arms. "You gonna get outta that thing?" Peter's masked head tilted, and you could imagine the sheepish grin underneath. "...Yeah, just taking in the room," he muttered, his voice strained. It was a lame dodge; the place looked better than it had in weeks thanks to your efforts. You stepped closer, concern mixing with amusement. "Do you need help out of your suit, Peter?" you asked bluntly, already reaching for the edge of his mask. "Yes please," he admitted, wincing as he tried to straighten up. A sharp hiss escaped him, and he froze again.

Your fingers hooked under the mask's seal, peeling it off slowly. Peter's face emerged—sweaty brown curls plastered to his forehead, a split lip, and bruises blooming purple along his jawline. His hazel eyes met yours, tired but warm, that spark of affection cutting through the exhaustion. You set the mask aside on the cluttered nightstand and moved behind him, finding the hidden zipper at the nape of his neck. "Easy now," you murmured, tugging it down inch by inch. The suit parted like a second skin, revealing the lean muscles of his back, marred by fresh welts and darkening contusions. As you peeled the fabric away from his shoulders, Peter let out a low moan, his body twitching involuntarily."Shit... that hurts," he groaned, his voice rough, but there was a hint of relief in it too. You worked the suit lower, sliding it over his shoulder blades, careful around a nasty scrape near his spine. He shifted slightly, another groan rumbling from his chest as the tight material dragged against inflamed skin. "Fuck," he breathed, fists clenching at his sides.

By the time you circled back in front of him, the suit hung loose around his waist, exposing his toned chest—rippling abs interrupted by finger-shaped bruises from some villain's grip, ribs shadowed with swelling. Peter's gaze raked over you, lingering on the towel barely containing your hips, the water-slicked trail of hair leading downward. That familiar hunger flickered in his eyes, dark and insistent despite the pain etching lines around his mouth."You're all bruised up," you said, your voice softening as you traced a gentle finger along a welt on his collarbone. You knew that look—he wanted you, needed the distraction, the connection to ground him after whatever hellish patrol he'd endured. He shook his head, a stubborn glint in his eye. "I don't care." Before you could protest, his hands—strong even now—gripped your waist, lifting you effortlessly despite his grimace. You yelped in surprise as he carried you the few steps to the bed, the towel slipping precariously."Peter—wait, you're hurt—"

"Shh, I need this. Need you," he cut in, voice husky, lowering you onto the rumpled sheets. He kicked off the rest of the suit, shoving it aside, his cock already half-hard and twitching against his thigh as he climbed over you. The bruises on his torso stood out starkly under the bedside lamp, but he ignored them, leaning down to capture your mouth in a fierce kiss. His lips were split and tasting faintly of blood, but you kissed back hungrily, hands roaming his back—careful of the tender spots. Peter's tongue slid against yours, a low moan vibrating into your mouth as he ground his hips down, his erection pressing hot and insistent against your thigh through the towel. "God, you look so fucking good," he whispered against your lips, nipping at your jaw. His hands yanked the towel free, exposing your hardening cock, and he wrapped a palm around it, stroking slowly. You arched into his touch, a gasp escaping as his thumb circled the head, smearing the bead of pre-cum.

"Pete... let me take care of you first," you panted, but he was already shifting, guiding you to straddle his hips. His cock stood fully erect now, thick and veined, curving slightly toward his abs. You positioned yourself above him, gripping the base as you sank down slowly, the stretch burning deliciously as his girth filled your ass. Peter's head fell back against the pillow, a guttural groan tearing from his throat. "Fuck... yeah, just like that." His hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging in—not too hard, mindful of his own bruises—as you bottomed out, your balls resting against his. The fullness made you shudder, walls clenching around him. You started to move, rolling your hips in a steady rhythm, riding him with deliberate thrusts. Peter's eyes locked on where your bodies joined, watching his cock disappear into you with each downward slide. "So tight... feels amazing," he rasped, one hand sliding up to tweak your nipple, rolling it between his fingers until you moaned.

The bed creaked under you, your hands braced on his chest—avoiding the worst bruises—as you picked up pace, bouncing harder. Sweat beaded on Peter's forehead, mixing with the remnants of patrol grime, but his face was alight with pleasure, pain forgotten in the heat of it. "Harder—fuck, ride me harder," he urged, bucking up to meet you, the slap of skin echoing in the small room. You obliged, grinding down deep, your own cock leaking pre-cum onto his stomach. Dialogue spilled between gasps: "You feel so good inside me, Pete... so thick." He laughed breathlessly, one hand stroking your cock in time with your movements. “Gonna make you feel it all night. Shit—keep going.” The room filled with the sounds of flesh meeting flesh, your moans blending with his grunts. Peter's control frayed, thrusts growing erratic. “Can't hold... fuck, cumming.“ You ground down hard, and he shattered, cock pulsing as ropes of cum shot into you, warm and flooding. “Take it— all of me,” he gasped, body arching. Panting, you eased off, his seed dripping down your thighs. Peter looked wrecked, eyelids drooping. “Hang on, I'll get the ice,” you said, kissing his temple before slipping away to the freezer. You returned with packs wrapped in a shirt, pressing them to his swollen knuckles and thigh. He mumbled a thanks, already fading, arm pulling you close as sleep claimed him. You nestled in, content in the quiet aftermath.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ~@magicstarbits @capsicleforever @loverclear @gayaristocrat @godjustkys @sluttyhusband @carnalcrows @amor-xoxo @loverboyisaac @gayaristocrat @manlover0729 @cronasluvr @celestiallightking @spnfanboy777 @elreystories @billyloveworld88

𝐃𝐢𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐀 𝐓𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐭

𝐕𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢 (サンジ) 𝐱 𝐌!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : Late at night, unable to sleep, you wander into the kitchen and find Sanji already there, quietly cooking. When you admit you’re hungry, he reacts instantly—dropping everything to focus on making you something fresh, insisting that anything he cooks for you has to be perfect. | Word Count : 800+

𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 + 𝐅𝐃𝐍𝐈 mature content below.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : fluff, late night, cooking as a love language, heavy flirting (mostly sanji), sanji being down bad, acts of service, gentle touches, brief physical contact, (hand on waist), sanji spoiling you, (feeding you) slow burn.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭

You hadn’t meant to wander down to the kitchen, Sleep just… wasn’t happening. And there you were. Standing in the doorway of the kitchen, half-awake, rubbing your eyes. “…Sanji?” He stands at the counter with his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened, moving with effortless precision as something sizzles gently in the pan. He glances over his shoulder—and the second he sees you? He lights up. “Well, well…” he murmurs, turning just enough to face you, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“I was hoping I wasn’t the only one still awake.” You lean lightly against the doorway, arms relaxed at your sides. “Couldn’t sleep,” you admit after a moment. “I ended up wandering.” Sanji hums quietly, studying you for a second longer than necessary. There’s a subtle smile on his lips, the kind that feels intentional. “I’m glad you wandered here,” he replies, turning back to the stove only long enough to adjust the heat. “It would’ve been a shame to miss you.” Sanji spoke again His voice softening, “Couldn’t sleep… or did you come looking for me?” You lean against the doorframe, voice quiet. “I was just… hungry.” Sanji straightens, his attention snapping fully back to you as if the rest of the world just stopped existing. “Hungry?” he repeats, almost incredulous. Then his expression sharpens with purpose. “You should have said something sooner.”

“I just did,” you point out, but he’s already moving. You barely have time to react before he’s pulling ingredients out—fresh vegetables, herbs, something already marinating like he knew this would happen.“I’ll make you something perfect,” he says, already chopping, already moving. “Something worthy of you.” You huff a quiet laugh. “Sanji, I said I was hungry, not that I needed a five-star meal.” He shoots you a look over his shoulder—half offended, half playful. “Everything I make for you is five-star.” The kitchen fills with warmth fast. The sound of the pan, the smell of garlic and butter, the rhythm of his knife against the board. It’s… calming. Easy.

You wander closer without thinking.“Careful, I’d hate to see you get hurt.” he murmurs as you step beside him, not even looking—but his hand slides to your waist anyway, steadying you away from the heat. “You’ll survive,” you reply, picking up the knife. He shifts just enough to give you space, though not much. The proximity feels intentional. “Let me help.” Sanji considers you for a moment, then slides a second knife in your direction with a faint, amused smile. He shifts just enough to give you space, though not much. The proximity feels intentional. For a while, neither of you says much. The sound of chopping vegetables blends with the soft sizzle from the stove, creating something calm and steady. It’s easy to fall into the rhythm, easier than you expected. Sanji, however, keeps glancing at you. Eventually, you glance sideways. “You’re staring again.”

“I’m appreciating,” he corrects smoothly. “Oh” You let out a quiet laugh. “It’s honest,” he says, stepping closer. His hand reaches out, adjusting your grip on the knife with gentle precision. “You look good like this.”Your breath catches slightly at the contact.“Like what?” you ask, trying to keep your tone steady. “Relaxed,” he replies, his voice softer now. “Comfortable. In my space.”There’s something deliberate in the way he says it—like he wants you to notice. You focus back on the cutting board, though your movements slow just a little. “You’re laying it on kind of thick.” Sanji’s quiet chuckle brushes past your ear as he steps around you to check the pan. “You always do this?” you ask. “Drop everything the second I say I’m hungry?”He hums, flipping something in the pan with practiced ease. “Only for you.” You raise a brow. “You cook for everyone.”

“Yes,” he agrees smoothly, “but I spoil you.”He plates the food with way too much care for the time of night—adjusting, fixing, making it look like something out of a restaurant instead of a quiet ship kitchen at midnight. Then he turns, stepping closer. Your plate never leaves his hand. “Go on,” he murmurs, holding it just out of reach. “Taste it.” You narrow your eyes. “You’re not even going to let me take the plate?”His smile is softer now, teasing but… focused. On you. Always on you. “Where’s the fun in that?” You sigh, playing along, and lean forward—taking a bite straight from the fork he offers. And yeah, It’s ridiculously good. “It’s really good,” you admit. Sanji exhales like he expected nothing less, though there’s clear satisfaction in his expression.

“I’m glad,” he says. Then, after a brief pause, his tone dips slightly. “I’d hate to disappoint you.”You shake your head, a quiet laugh slipping out. Something about that answer makes him still for a second. Then he steps closer again, just enough to close the space between you without crowding it. “Good,” he murmurs. The kitchen falls quiet again, but it’s no longer just calm—it’s charged, subtle but unmistakable. Sanji’s gaze lingers on you, softer now, but no less intense. “Next time you’re hungry,” he says, voice low and steady, “come find me sooner.” You tilt your head. “Why?” He steps closer again, just enough that you can feel him. “Because,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded, “I like taking care of you.”

Leon S. Kennedy Resident Evil: Requiem

1.2k Words

You hadn’t heard his voice in almost three decades. you glanced at the caller ID, and your heart stuttered. Leon S. Kennedy. The name alone sent a jolt of memories flooding back. “Leon?” There was a pause on the other end. Then his voice—deeper now. Gravel and tired. “Yeah, it's me. Been a long time.” Surprise didn't cover it, shock ripped through you like a fresh wound. “Twenty-eight years. Where the hell are you?” You had imagined this moment before. In grocery stores. In traffic. In the middle of random Tuesday afternoon. But you never imagined he’d say the next words. “Wrenwood. I'm here.“ Your mind reeled. Silence stretched between you. Twenty-eight years of silence. “What are you doing here?” you finally asked. “Cleaning up something.” he said quietly. “Can I see you? Your place, if that's okay.” You didn’t answer right away. “Yeah. Get over here.” You rattled off the address, hanging up before your voice could crack.

You expected nerves. You didn’t expect your hands to shake while unlocking your own apartment door. When the knock came an hour later, you opened the door to a man who wasn't the rookie cop from your memories. Leon stood there, taller somehow, broader in the shoulders, Hair darker with gray streaks threading through. His blue eyes still held that piercing intensity, but time had carved depth into them—experience, loss, survival. The boyish softness was gone. His jaw was sharper now. Lines carved at the corners of his eyes. He wore a fitted leather jacket over a black shirt, jeans hugging his thighs, and if you were honest he looked even better with age. His eyes moved over your face like he was cataloging changes.“Leon,” you breathed, stepping aside to let him in. He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips as he entered, the door clicking shut behind him. The apartment felt smaller with him in it, the air thickening with unspoken history. For a second, neither of you spoke. You studied him openly now. The scar near his collarbone—visible just above his shirt line. The healed slash at his wrist. The way his hands flexed unconsciously, like he was used to holding a gun. He caught you staring. “What?” You tilted your head slightly, letting a slow smile pull at your mouth. “You’re aging like fine wine, Leon.”

“Yeah?” He huffed, a low chuckle rumbling from his throat as he tilted his head, those eyes locking onto yours with a spark of amusement. “Yeah.” You stepped closer. Close enough to see the lines on his face more clearly. You move closer—slow enough to give him time to move if he wants to. He doesn’t. Your hands come up, resting against his chest. He’s solid. Warmer than you expected. His heart is beating fast. Faster than yours. Leon moved first closing the distance his hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip, and then he kissed you—slow at first. But the years melted away as your tongues got tangled with a hunger that had simmered too long. You groaned into the kiss, hands fisting in his jacket as he backed you up, his arms sliding around your waist. With effortless strength, he hoisted you up, your legs wrapping around his hips instinctively.

Leon adjusted you before carrying you toward the bedroom like you weighed nothing. He kicked the door open and lowered you onto the bed, not breaking the kiss as he followed you down, his body pinning yours in the best way. His hands were everywhere—tugging at your shirt, shoving it up to expose your chest, fingers tracing the lines. You arched into his touch, nipping at his bottom lip. “Shit, old man you still got it.” Leon pulled back just enough to smirk, his breath hot against your skin as he yanked your shirt off completely. “You're not that far behind me,” he shot back, voice teasing with passion. He leaned in, capturing your mouth again in a deeper kiss, his tongue sweeping in possessively while his hand dipped lower, palming the growing bulge in your pants. You bucked against his touch, a laugh bubbling up between gasps. He stripped you efficiently—pants unzipped, shoved down your thighs, until you were bare beneath him. He took you in, then he shed his own clothes, jacket tossed aside, shirt peeled off to reveal the toned planes, scars faint but telling stories. His jeans hit the floor, and there he was, cock hard and thick, curving up against his abdomen, pre-cum already beading at the tip. He climbed back over you, knees bracketing your hips, and leaned down to kiss your neck, teeth grazing the pulse point. “Been thinking about this for years,” he confessed, voice rough as his hand wrapped around your cock, stroking slow. You moaned, hips jerking into his grip, the pace driving you wild. “Leon—fuck, don't tease.” Your hands roamed his back, nails digging in as he nipped at your collarbone, then lower, sucking a mark into your chest.

He chuckled against your skin, the vibration sending shivers through you. “Who's teasing?” You reached for the nightstand—you'd kept lube there, always half-hoping for a miracle like this—you slicked his fingers, pressing one against your hole. You spread your legs wider, inviting him in, and he pushed inside slowly, curling to hit that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. “Shit, yes,” you hissed, rocking back onto his hand as he added a second finger, scissoring them to stretch you open. Leon's eyes never left yours, intense and affectionate. He pumped his fingers deeper, thumb circling your rim, building the pressure until you were panting, cock leaking onto your stomach. “Need you inside me, Now.” You grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand away, withdrawing to slick his cock with more lube. Leon lined up, the blunt head nudging your hole. He pushed in inch by inch, both of you moaning at the stretch. “Fuck, you're huge,” you gasped, legs hooking around his waist to pull him deeper. He bottomed out, hips against yours, and paused, forehead pressed to your shoulder as he caught his breath. Then he started moving—slow thrusts at first, grinding deep, his cock dragging against your walls in a rhythm that had you seeing white. You met every roll of his hips, hands in his hair, tugging him up for messy kisses. The pace quickened, the bed creaking under the force as he fucked into you with precision—pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, hitting your prostate dead-on.“Like that? Bet you missed this cock filling you up.”

“God, yes—don't stop.” Pleasure coiled tight in your gut, his dirty talk pushing you closer to the edge. He wrapped a hand around your cock again, jerking you in time with his thrusts. Sweat slicked your bodies, the room filled with the slap of skin and your shared gasps. Leon's control frayed, thrusts turning erratic, deeper, as he buried his face in your neck. “Gonna make you come for me.” That tipped you over—your orgasm crashed through you, cum spilling hot over his fist and your chest as you clenched around him, crying out his name. Leon followed seconds later, groaning low and guttural as he thrust deep one last time, filling you with his release, pulsing inside you. He collapsed on top of you, both breathing ragged, his lips brushing your temple in a soft kiss. “Not bad for an old man,” you murmured, smirking as you traced lazy patterns on his back. He laughed softly, lifting his head to kiss you properly—tender now, intimate. You stayed tangled like that, the weight of twenty-eight years lifting just a little.

#dqrkhold #ᝰ𝐃𝐪𝐫𝐤𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝’𝐬 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠ᝰ #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x male reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #male reader #x male reader #x male reader smut #x bottom male reader #mlm #smut #gay #lgbtq #resident evil #resident evil requiem #resident evil x male reader

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐔𝐩 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬

𝐑𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐚 𝐙𝐨𝐫𝐨 (ロロノア・ゾロ) 𝐱 𝐌!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : After a brutal fight, Roronoa Zoro refuses to rest despite his injuries, his focus completely locked on you. Though you worry about his condition, the tension between you get heated quickly. | drabble + porn without plot

𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 + 𝐅𝐃𝐍𝐈 mature content below.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : Smut, Dom!Zoro, Sub!Male!Reader, Moaning, Praising, Riding, M!Reader (giving), swearing, Explicit Content, Cum, Dirty Talk.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭

Zoro lay stretched out on the rough table, his massive frame barely fitting, legs hanging off the end. His eye’s were fixed on you as you hovered nearby. Zoro's chest rose and fell but there was no mistaking the fire in his gaze-demanding hunger that overrode the pain etching lines around his mouth. “Zoro, you need rest, Those cuts—“ you said, voice laced with worry as your hand ghosted over a bandage on his ribs.

“Fuck the cuts,” he cut in, his tone a low growl that vibrated through the space between you. His arm shot out, calloused fingers wrapping around your wrist and tugging you closer, right up against the table's edge. “All I could think about out there, dodging that bastard's strikes, was this. Getting back to you.“ Heat flooded your veins at his words, your pulse racing as you met his stare.

Despite the wounds, or maybe because of them, he looked every bit the unbreakable swordsman—feral and alive with need. Your hands moved almost on instinct, sliding to his waistband, fingers hooking into the fabric of his pants. “Let me help you with these, then,” you murmured, voice husky as you worked the ties loose.

Zoro lifted his hips just enough, a faint grunt escaping him from the pull on his injuries, but his eye never left yours. You tugged the pants down his powerful thighs, the material bunching at his knees before you shoved it aside entirely, freeing his cock.

It stood thick and heavy against his stomach, veins bulging along the length, the tip already glistening with pre-cum that smeared across his skin as it throbbed. “Good,” he rumbled, approval rough in his throat. His hands found your hips, gripping hard enough to bruise as he pulled you up onto the table. The wood protested under the shift, but held firm. “Now get on top.“

You shed your clothes in a rush, the cool cabin air raising goosebumps on your skin as your own erection sprang free, aching with anticipation. Climbing over him carefully, you positioned yourself astride his waist, knees digging into the table on either side of his hips. The heat from his body radiated up, his cock brushing against your inner thigh, leaving a slick trail.

Zoro's hands guided you, one thumb tracing the cleft of your ass teasingly. he commanded, voice dropping an octave. “Feel how hard I am for you. Slide down on my cock—nice and slow at first.” he said, voice dropping an octave. You reached down, wrapping your fingers around his base, the girth filling your hand as you aligned the swollen head with your entrance.

The first press was electric—a blunt stretch that made you bite your lip to stifle a moan. Inch by inch, you sank onto him, your hole yielding to the invasion, walls clenching around the invading thickness. “Shit... so tight,” Zoro hissed, his head tipping back against the table with a thud, muscles in his neck corded. His fingers dug into your thighs, urging you deeper. “That's it—take it all. Fuck, you feel perfect wrapped around me.”

Fully seated, you paused to adjust, his cock buried to the hilt, the curve of it pressing insistently against your prostate. The fullness was overwhelming, sparks of pleasure shooting through you. Zoro bucked up experimentally, shallow and controlled, drawing a gasp from your lips.

“Move,” he ordered, eye blazing as he watched your face. “Ride me.“ You obeyed, lifting up until just the tip remained inside, then dropping back down with a sharp slap of skin on skin. The rhythm built quickly—up and down, your hands braced on his bandaged chest for leverage, careful not to press the wounds.

Each descent drove him deeper, the drag of his shaft against your inner walls sending jolts of ecstasy racing up your spine. “Zoro... fuck,“ you panted, hips rolling in a grind that made his cock nudge that sweet spot relentlessly. Sweat beaded on your brow, your own length bobbing and leaking against his abs with every thrust.

He smirked through gritted teeth, pain flickering but drowned by lust. “Yeah? Good. Grind harder—milk me dry.” His hands slid to your ass, spreading the cheeks wider to watch himself plunge in and out, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet cabin. You picked up the pace, riding him with abandon, the table creaking rhythmically beneath you.

Zoro met each drop with an upward snap of his hips, his breath coming in harsh grunts, bandages shifting slightly with the effort. “Don't stop,” he growled, one hand snaking up to grip your nape, pulling you down for a messy kiss—teeth clashing, tongue invading your mouth as possessively as his cock did your body.

The coil in your gut tightened unbearably, pleasure cresting with every targeted thrust. “I'm—Zoro, gonna—“ you choked out against his lips. “Cum for me,” he demanded, his free hand fisting your cock in tight strokes, thumb swiping over the slit. “Spill it all over my stomach. Then I'll flood this hole.” The words tipped you over.

Orgasm ripped through you, your release erupting in hot spurts across his stomach, mixing with the sheen of sweat. Zoro followed with a guttural growl—cock pulsing as he unloaded deep inside, thick jets of cum filling you until it leaked out.

You collapsed forward onto his chest, both of you gasping, bodies slick and trembling. His arms wrapped around you, holding you pinned despite the ache in his wounds.“Stay like that,” he whispered, voice rough but tender, lips brushing your ear.

#dqrkhold #ᝰ𝐃𝐪𝐫𝐤𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝’𝐬 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠ᝰ #mackenyu #mackenyu x male reader #mackenyu x reader #roronoa zoro #ronoroa zoro x male reader #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #male reader #x male reader #x male reader smut #x bottom male reader #mlm #smut #gay #lgbtq #one piece #one piece x male reader

𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐓𝐨 𝐘𝐨𝐮

𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐌!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : Rafe wakes to you grinding against his thigh in your sleep, needy and warm and seeking him out without even thinking about it. Instead of stopping you, he melts into it — hands in your hair, guiding your hips while you leave wet kisses and bruising marks across his chest. | drabble + porn without plot

𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 + 𝐅𝐃𝐍𝐈 mature content below.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : Smut, Dom!Rafe, Fluff, Sub!Reader, Moaning, Praising, dry humping, Somnophilia, M!Reader (giving), swearing, Explicit Content, Cum, Dirty Talk.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭

You’re both still half-asleep, the warmth of his body a heavy, familiar comfort against yours. You shift, not quite awake, but your body knows what it wants. Rafe was on his back, one arm slung loose behind his head, breath slow and even. You were pressed against his side, leg hooked over his thigh. Your hips press forward, grinding lazily against his thigh through the thin cotton of his boxers and your own.

A soft, sleepy groan catches in your throat as you feel the heat of him, the firm muscle beneath the fabric. You do it again, a slow, deliberate roll of your hips, the friction sending a dull, pleasant thrum through your half-hard cock. Rafe stirs beneath you. His other arm tightens around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “Mm… what’re you doin’?” he mumbles, his voice rough and thick with sleep. He doesn’t open his eyes, but a lazy smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

You didn’t answer, just buried your face in his chest, mouth open, hot breath ghosting over his collarbone. Your hips kept moving—slow, deliberate, a steady grind that had his cock swelling against yours through the dampening fabric.

“Nothin’,” you whisper back, your lips already pressing against his collarbone. You kiss along the hard line of it, down to the swell of his chest. Your hips keep moving, a steady, gentle rock against his thigh, your boxers damp with pre-cum as you grind into him.

He lets out a low, breathy laugh. “Liar.” His hand slides from your shoulders into your hair, fingers curling and tugging just a little. “Feels good, though. Don’t stop.” Rafe’s breathing hitched, and his hand slid lower, gripping your ass, guiding your rhythm. “Fuck… you’re not even awake, are you?” he murmured, a smirk in his voice.

You hummed against his skin, dragging your lips down his chest, leaving a trail of wet, sleepy kisses. Your tongue traced the hard line of his pectoral, tasting him. Your mouth finds the spot just above his left nipple, and you latch on, sucking softly at first. Rafe’s breath hitches, his hips twitching up to meet your slow rhythm.

“Fuck…” he breathes, his voice dropping lower. “Right there, baby.” You obey, working that spot of skin with your lips and tongue, sucking harder until you feel the blood rush to the surface. His skin turns pink beneath your mouth, then a deeper, angry red. You pull back just enough to look at the mark you’re leaving, already blossoming into a dark bruise. It satisfies something primal in you. You dive back in, sucking deep, teeth grazing just enough to make him hiss.

“Yeah,” Rafe groans, his head pressing back into the pillow. His chest rises and falls faster beneath you. “Fuckin’ mark me up. Want everyone to see it.” You release the skin with a wet pop, licking over the tender spot. His nipple is hard against your tongue, and you flick it before moving to the other side of his chest, finding a fresh patch of skin to destroy. Your hips never stop their lazy grind, the friction building a tight heat low in your belly.

Rafe’s arm moves, and you hear the soft tap of his phone being picked up off the nightstand. You don’t stop sucking, your mouth occupied. You heard the click of his phone screen, and then he shifted, angling the camera down. The flash went off once, twice, catching the hickey in harsh white light.

His free hand grips your hair, holding you in place.

“Look up,” he says, his voice a low command. “Wanna see your mouth on me.”

The camera shutter sound cuts through the quiet room, once, twice, three times.

He pulls the phone back, scrolling through the images with a satisfied grunt. “Fuck, that’s hot.” He turns the screen toward you. It’s a close-up of your mouth on his chest, the hickey dark and wet, your lips red and swollen. Drool glistens on his skin.

“Look at that. You really went to town.”

You nuzzled into his neck, still rocking against him, the slow grind never stopping. “Gonna show your friends?”

He snorted, locking the phone and tossing it aside. “Nah. This one’s for me.” His hand moved to your ass, gripping it. “Now keep fuckin’ my thigh, baby. Don’t stop.”

You didn’t. You kept that slow, lazy grind, the sheets rustling, breath mingling, the room filling with the soft sound of skin on skin and the wet whisper of saliva as you sucked another mark just below the first. Rafe’s eyes fluttered closed, a low, continuous groan vibrating in his chest.

You groan at the increased pressure, your cock aching as you rut against him like an animal in heat.

“Keep goin” he mutters, his eyes half-lidded and dark. “Don’t care if we don’t even fuck, just wanna feel you like this.”

Your forehead drops to his chest, your breathing ragged. The cot of his boxers is damp with your leaking pre-cum, the friction slicker now, the glide maddening. You can feel his own cock through the fabric, hard and thick against your hip, the heat radiating off him.

“Rafe,” you whimper, the name broken by a shuddering exhale. “I’m close.”

“I know, baby,” he coos, the condescension laced with genuine affection. “Come on my thigh. Make a mess for me.”

That’s all it takes. Your hips stutter, a choked moan muffled against his skin as you spill into your boxers, the hot pulse of your orgasm flooding the fabric. The friction against your oversensitive cock makes you gasp, but you keep grinding through it, milking every last drop.

Rafe watches you through heavy-lidded eyes, his hand still tangled in your hair, stroking soothingly as you come down. “There you go,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Good boy.”

You collapse against him, your body boneless and slick with sweat. His chest is damp under your cheek, the fresh mark you left standing out dark and beautiful against his tanned skin. You trace the edge of it with your finger, and he chuckles.

“Gonna wake up tomorrow and see that,” he says. “And I’m gonna get hard all over again.”

You smile against his skin. “Good.”

He reaches down, patting your sticky thigh.

“Good morning,” he whispered.

You smiled against his skin, already drifting back toward sleep.